When my sister showed up in tears last spring, I didn’t hesitate. Her boutique was failing, and as a single mother working two jobs, I still scraped together $20,000 from my savings to bail her out. We hugged, she promised repayment, and for three months she sent small installments. Then silence.
While I struggled to pay my rent, her Instagram showed luxury vacations and shopping sprees. The betrayal cut deeper than the financial loss – this was the sister who’d braided my hair as kids, who’d been my maid of honor. I didn’t make a scene. Instead, I quietly contacted her landlord and suppliers, learning everything about her business.
When she planned a grand reopening, I was ready. I purchased the building through an LLC and converted it into a women’s entrepreneurial hub. My daughter’s college fund became a stake in the new venture. The poetic justice came full circle when my sister called last week, crying about her latest failure. I sent her a photo of our thriving co-op with one caption: “Karma collects with interest.”
